8 HEATH

8 Heath

He shouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with his own daughter. But the truth was that Heath was relieved that Charlee had remained slightly down the street from the old council office, sitting in the gutter. Her location probably wouldn’t make her bib-fronted overalls any filthier than they already were.

As if Charlee wasn’t embarrassing enough, there was her permanent attachment: Ethan. He was currently skateboarding down the quiet streets of Settlers Bridge on an oversized deck like some semi-decrepit delinquent.

Heath yanked at the ornate brass-plated pull on the door into the old council office, a little surprised when the heavy wood slab opened; he had suspected he and Sean would be the only ones to turn up to the Regional Action Group meeting, and had only agreed—after two weeks of Sean’s nagging—to get his Dad off his case. Which meant Sean also had to come, as Heath didn’t drive. And Charlee had to come, because she couldn’t be trusted in a house that had his prescription painkillers in an unlocked cupboard, let alone whatever meds her grandfather had to hand. Which of course meant that Ethan—who apparently had nowhere better to be than hanging around Charlee—also had to come into Settlers Bridge.

‘What do you make of him?’ Still holding the door open, Heath scowled toward where Ethan crouched on his board, balanced diagonally across the handrail of the cement access ramp up to the side door of the chambers.

Sean shrugged. ‘Seems harmless enough.’

‘Harmless? He’s twice her age if he’s a day.’ It wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned the age discrepancy, but what the hell: none of them was getting any younger. ‘Makes him a bloody paedophile in my book.’

‘Bit unfair, son. Charlee’s an adult, even if she’s not acting much like it at the moment. And last night … I overheard them talking. Charlee said she wants to quit uni and Ethan came down pretty hard on her. Said if she’s nothing better to do, she’d do better bettering herself.’ Sean gave a satisfied nod, evidently pleased to recall the quote. ‘She didn’t take it too well—you know our Charlee, she’s not an easy one to give advice to. But when she’d finished having her tantrum about the pointlessness of it all, Ethan told her she needs to grow up, take responsibility, and that if she wanted to quit, she should have done it before census date, so she wasn’t wasting money on fees.’

‘Bit rich coming from a permanent Austudy leech.’

Sean peered down the hallway, probably trying to find out which room the RAG meeting was to be held in. Most had closed doors, each bearing the name or business of the office holder. ‘He’s not so bad. Have you noticed that Charlee actually seems a little more alive with him around?’

Heath winced at the choice of words. ‘That’s probably not because of his company.’ Two years ago, he would have intervened in the relationship. Now he didn’t dare.

‘I think she might be clean, son. There’s something different about her … a calmness.’

‘Probably a different bloody drug, then.’ Heath tried to quell the sudden leap of hope. In the face of his inability to do anything to help her, could Charlee have worked her own way through the worst of the addiction? No, that wasn’t credible. ‘You know she’s hardcore, Dad.’ Jesus, but he wanted Sean to disagree with him. ‘I don’t know what her gateway drug was, but she’s done the trifecta: depressants and stimulants; opiates and opioids; hallucinogens.’ Charlee had been thrilled to throw her progression in his face, proving how terribly grown up she now was. How he couldn’t control her—or her destiny.

‘You don’t know the gateway?’ Sean said sorrowfully. ‘Come on, lad, you know right enough. It wasn’t a drug. It was trauma. Grief. Guilt.’

‘So this is my fault as well.’

‘Not what I’m saying at all. What I am saying is that Charlee needs to heal emotionally before she has any chance of stepping away from addiction. Hell, Heath, you’ve already lived this. You know it. I sure as heck know it.’ Sean struck his own chest with a balled-up fist. ‘Drugs, alcohol, porn, chocolate: whatever the addiction is, it fills a hole. It numbs everything. Makes life bearable for a little while. Without the anaesthetic, life is a raw nerve.’

Heath had to ignore the pain in his father’s voice, pretend he didn’t know the demons Sean hid behind a determinedly cheery facade, because if they compared, shared, then the demons would breed. Revelling in their exposure, the fears of the night would be born into the day and any polite pretence of normality would be stripped. So the demons had to stay trapped inside. For years, Dad had kept his sedated with alcohol, but now it was the sheer will it took him to get through each day without turning to the bottle that subjugated them. Heath’s demons were different, though. He deliberately held them inside, fed them with memories and guilt, kept them alive so they could torture him.

‘All I know is that this clown isn’t helping Charlee. Look at him.’ Heath turned back to the open doorway but lowered his voice as he realised a couple of middle-aged women were making their way along the cement path that led between the scoria-covered garden beds at the front of the council chambers. ‘Acting like he’s a damn kid.’

‘Then perhaps that’s what Charlee needs. To remind her that she’s supposed to be a kid, not have the weight of the world on her shoulders,’ Sean said, before turning his best flirt on the approaching women. ‘Top of the day to you, ladies. But I confess I’m a little concerned that we’re lost: surely such attractive company means we can’t possibly be in the right place for our meeting?’

If he’d had a hat, Sean would have swept it off and bowed, Heath thought. Predictably, the women giggled. He recognised one as the cashier from the local supermarket, the other as the woman who worked in the local cafe. On the few occasions he’d been past, Heath had been fascinated by the contrast of her apparent severity with the cheery demeanour of the owner, Sam. He wondered why on earth Sam would employ such a sour woman; it seemed unlikely there’d be a shortage of unskilled workers in a town with so few businesses.

Both women carried Tupperware containers, and Heath had a sinking feeling that he and Sean were walking in on a bring-a-plate-to-share deal. Which meant bonhomie, greet-your-fellow-man, well-hailed-neighbour rubbish to be got through before he could escape.

‘Heath, you’ve met Lynn.’ Sean gestured at the comfortable woman with hair outrageously coloured in chunks of purple and pink. ‘I’m not sure about our lovely Chrissie, though?’

‘Christine.’ Despite the whip-crack correction, the stern woman’s face splintered in a shark-like smile, and Heath realised even she was taken in by Sean’s blatant flattery.

He nodded in greeting, but his gaze travelled beyond the two women. More people were headed toward the old building, in couples and singly, and he wanted to get inside before any of them associated him with Charlee, who was now leaning against the side of the building, arms crossed, observing them with a hostile glare.

A clatter further up the street drew his eye, and Ethan hove into view, toeing his board so it barrel-rolled as he somehow elevated from it, then landed smoothly again on the deck. An admiring crowd of teens loitered against the dusty window of an empty building across the road. They cheered as Ethan landed a couple more tricks. One of them dropped a board to the cement, trying to emulate Ethan’s jump. Ethan doubled back to the group and fist-bumped one of the kids, then demonstrated the trick again, correcting the pimple-faced youth’s stance. He high-fived the kid, then stepped back onto his board, irresponsibly zigzagging across the road with no thought for the traffic. Not that there was any.

As he glided closer, Ethan kicked the board so it flipped into his hand. His gaze quickly ranged the group amassed in front of the council office before finding Charlee. A smile softened the gaunt contours of his face. Board under his arm, he moved toward her and spoke quietly.

Heath frowned as his daughter’s arms uncrossed. She leaned in to Ethan, the scowl disappearing from her face. The guy spoke again, tilting his head toward the door, and Charlee giggled, the joyous sound tolling like church bells in Heath’s head. For a few seconds she was the old Charlee: unguarded, vivacious. Alive.

‘Will you look at that,’ Sean said a little too smugly.

Heath turned on his heel and stalked into the offices. It couldn’t be that easy. It couldn’t be some other guy who rescued his daughter. That was his job. Sophie had charged him with it.

His stride broke as he entered the relative darkness of the hallway. Multiple rooms opened off either side of the corridor, a veritable warren. The labelling on the doors ranged from an old campaign poster on the MP’s office to a brass plate on the solicitor’s. He almost missed that one, though, because seated at a desk beyond the open door was Amelia. Crazy animal hoarder extraordinaire.

He forced a smile and headed toward her. He was accustomed to fronting up in meetings—though he thought the requirement had died, along with Sophie, two years ago—but he’d rather have sat this one out, staring at his phone in the back of the room. He’d cocked that option up by rushing in ahead of the influx.

Before he’d managed to get out a greeting, an elegant woman darted out from a side room. She regarded him keenly for a moment in a manner that would have been offensive and inappropriate had their genders been reversed. Then she allowed what could have been a glimmer of a smile. ‘You’re here for the Regional Action Group meeting?’

At his nod, she pointed. ‘You’ll find the conference room at the end of the hall. I’m the office manager. Faelie,’ she added with a knowing look, like she’d caught him about to ask for her details. He hadn’t been. ‘Amelia, you can run some water jugs down and put the urn on.’

Heath gave the manager a tight smile. ‘Thank you, but I was stopping by to speak with my friend first. Amelia.’ He nodded, faking a burst of camaraderie. Then, predictably, he couldn’t think of anything to add. It wasn’t like he knew anything about the woman. Or cared. It was simply that decades of office politics, backstabbing and sniping had left him with a low tolerance for abuse of power, and Faelie had immediately got him offside. Which had put him—awkwardly, it turned out—squarely on Amelia’s side. ‘How is our joint charge getting on?’

Amelia flinched, as though the lamb was something he shouldn’t have brought up. Trust him to put his bloody great size eleven in it.

‘Didn’t make it through, then? Dad says the Dorpers are hard to bottle rear.’

‘The local vet warned me that all lambs are a bit dicey,’ Amelia said, bending to reach beneath her ancient timber desk. She pulled out an animal crate that must have been crowding her knees despite the vastness of the desk. ‘But here’s Karmaa. He seems to be doing just fine, though I’m sure he’ll be happier after today, when I can devote more time to him.’

Heath couldn’t quite interpret the look she shot at Faelie, but it seemed to contain a challenge.

Faelie huffed. ‘As I said, if you want to continue here, you’ll have to sort something out. We can’t have that animal in the office.’

Amelia shrugged, then very deliberately unlatched the crate and took the small black and white lamb out, settling it on her lap. ‘That’s fine. Although, you did say that you expect me to serve out my notice, but I believe that’s contractually incorrect, given that I’m a temp.’

Faelie looked flustered. ‘I’m sure that’s not exactly what I said.’

‘That’s definitely how I understood your inference.’

The interaction between the women intrigued Heath and he couldn’t miss the determined set to Amelia’s jaw, the same expression she’d had when she demanded he hand the lamb over. It was clear that she intended to give her boss no wiggle room. Perhaps there was a little more substance to the woman than the run-of-the-mill animal hoarder he’d judged her to be?

Faelie stood back, indicating the hallway. ‘We’ll talk about this tomorrow, Amelia. The community room is through here …?’ Her fishing for his name was obvious enough to be ignored.

With the lamb curled on her lap like a large cat, Amelia’s eyes sparkled with triumph. Before he’d had a chance to consider the ramifications, Heath returned her contagious grin.

Sean was enjoying the meeting far too much. Heath realised with vague surprise that, although his father had only retired four years ago, he’d never seen him in work mode. Now Sean was in full flight, having taken over the chairing of the meeting when it devolved into a chatty free-for-all with no attempt made at structure. Or minute-taking. Heath glanced sideways to where Amelia had taken the seat next to Charlee and sat tapping on an iPad. She’d suffered from Sean knowing her name, as he’d quickly singled her out for the task.

‘We need a focus for the group,’ Sean had announced after an hour of pointless waffle and to-and-froing. They’d done the usual torturous icebreaker, and Heath had vaguely amused himself by giving nothing more than his name. The group was female-heavy and, with a range of ages from six to about eighty-six, the most motley collection of knights of the round table ever, he thought, with a sudden appreciation of the ridiculous. Alongside Sean was Tracey, an older woman with wild silver hair threaded through with colourful scarves that matched the rainbow of bangles on her arm. Next to her, Gabrielle—if he remembered her intriguingly accented greeting correctly—was quietly and expensively elegant, yet the guy she introduced as her husband—and everyone else referred to as Wheaty—was in jeans, the tanned arms stretching the sleeves of his t-shirt testament to a blue-collar job. There were others. Lucie and Jack, who had a lively primary schooler and kept protectively and secretively touching Lucie’s perhaps slightly rounded belly. Sam from the local cafe, along with Christine, who worked there but acted like the owner on the rare occasion he’d been in. Roni, owner of the local farm animal refuge, who’d left her husband at home looking after twins, had pushed her chair close enough to Sam to swap giggled whispers. And the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker; Heath let his vision glaze. He had no need to remember these people, their names, their businesses. They were nothing to him. The only ones he had any interest in, other than Sean, sat at the far end of the huge oak conference table. Charlee leaned against Ethan, who had his elbow on the polished desk, chin in hand, the proceedings probably beyond his intellectual grasp. Charlee idly traced the infinity symbol tattooed on her wrist. Was that a new one? Heath had lost count of her ink, each image a rendition of the same theme. A sideways figure eight, the continuous curves signifying limitlessness. No end.

Wishful thinking.

In contrast to his daughter’s studied grubbiness was the local doctor, Taylor, in what Heath guessed was her consulting uniform of dark slacks and white shirt. Charlee could have been a doctor. Could have been anything she wanted. But apparently all she wanted was to not be here. And he didn’t know whether that meant Settlers Bridge or something … bigger.

‘Oh, I’ve got a focus all right,’ Lynn said with a throaty chuckle.

Heath rolled his eyes as Sean grew about ten centimetres. Any hope of Dad guiding the meeting to an early wrap-up had hit the deck. Hard.

‘We need to clarify a purpose for the group,’ Sean continued with considerable composure, considering the wave of giggles that followed Lynn’s announcement. ‘As I understand it, Settlers Bridge has experienced some growth—’

‘ So much growth,’ Tracey burst in, winding the end of one of her scarves around her thin hands. ‘First there was Roni. No, actually, I suppose you were first, Taylor.’ She broke off, patting Roni’s hand as though the young woman needed consoling for being moved to second place. ‘Then Gabrielle came into town. Though of course, that meant we lost Sharna—’

‘Not my fault!’ Gabrielle protested.

‘Well …’ Tracey drew out the word, making it an accusation, although her eyes glinted with humour. ‘You make our Wheaty happy, so we’ll excuse you, anyway. And of course, Gabrielle’s inn brings people from all over the place.’

‘Monarto Safari Park and The Bend Motorsport Park are more likely the cause,’ observed Dave Jaensch, his heavy jowls wobbling reprovingly. ‘And you’ve got the council to thank for advocating for those.’

Even if Dave hadn’t introduced himself as the local council representative, Heath would have guessed it. The only people ever happy with that organisation were employed there. He pondered briefly on the chicken-or-the-egg aspect of that.

‘Not that we need more people coming through town,’ Christine put in, her dark eyes flashing and lips snapping off the end of the sentence.

‘ You do,’ Dave retorted. ‘Ploughs and Pies will get more out of the tourists than the rest of us put together. Comes back to council.’ He nodded assertively.

‘It’s not like council advertises for Settlers Bridge businesses or hands out grants,’ Gabrielle said.

‘Speaking of newcomers,’ Dave said, scowling, ‘you can’t expect to have everything on a platter. I sit in council every month and support anything to do with tourism, even though it’s not doing my property any favours, just stirring up the dirt on the road going past my house. Going to have to get the council to look into laying some bitumen.’

‘Convenient,’ Jim Smithton—who apparently made a living from some kind of chauffeuring business, as bizarre as that sounded out here—said. ‘Am I the only one who’s noticed that our bitumen roads seem to end right outside councillors’ houses? Meanwhile, the switchbacks down to Gabby’s place on the river don’t even rate a warning sign. Lucky I know them well enough, but you wouldn’t want any other service trying to navigate them on a dark night.’

Amid a general kerfuffle of aggrieved agreement, Dave half-rose from his chair, hitching up his pants as though considering taking his indignation elsewhere. Faelie appeared from the hallway, carrying a large platter, and Dave settled back down. ‘That your angel food cake, Christine?’ he said, all arguments forgotten as the tray reached the table. ‘Know the way to a man’s heart, you do.’

Sean shot Heath a look and he knew his father was trying not to laugh.

‘Then there was Lucie, came here from Melbourne,’ Tracey continued as though she hadn’t been interrupted. ‘Or really, from the Adelaide Hills, wasn’t it, Lucie? And now, though you’ve been around a year or so, you two are finally in town.’ She smiled at Sean and Heath as though she’d been waiting to welcome them into the fold.

‘And we have …?’ Christine said coldly, letting the sentence trail off, her eyebrows raised toward the end of the table.

Charlee eyeballed Christine back silently, but Ethan’s hand snaked out, covering hers, and Charlee dropped her challenging gaze. ‘Charlee and Ethan,’ he said. ‘But we’re just tagalongs, with Sean and Heath.’

‘More the merrier, lovey,’ Lynn said, when it seemed Christine was likely to pass judgement on their right to be there. ‘If this is a think tank—and I reckon that’s what you’re trying to figure out, Sean?—to come up with ideas to capitalise on the growth in Settlers Bridge, we need some fresh blood, not just old chooks and roosters. We could do with input from the young ones.’

That rule s out suggestions from Ethan, Heath thought snidely.

‘Actually, I do have a point I’d like to raise,’ Ethan said.